Reuniting with the Rancher. Rachel Lee

never did.” He waited for an explosion that didn’t come. Oh, this was bad. This wasn’t the Holly he remembered at all. Now, right alongside his annoyance at having her around for a while, he felt the first tendrils of worry. Was she sick?

      None of his business anymore, he reminded himself. She’d made sure of that.

      The town didn’t have anything like a big nursery. Around here, most planting was reserved for hay, alfalfa and vegetable gardens. But there was a corner at the feed store where it was possible to buy houseplants and some ornamental trees. Not a huge selection, but no huge demand, either. They would order stuff in, though, if, say, someone wanted to plant a windbreak or something bigger.

      “What were you thinking of planting for her?” he asked as they stood looking at the tiny selection.

      “Well, she always said she wanted to leave a small footprint in the world, so it should be something native.”

      He hesitated a moment, wondering how far into this he wanted to get. “What are you looking for? Fast growing, flowering?”

      “I want something pretty that will last. It doesn’t have to grow fast.”

      He pointed. “That tulip poplar over there will give you fantastic autumn foliage. Almost like aspens, which are related. It’s pretty hardy, though.”

      She looked at the tree, which right now was little more than a twig with a few leaves. “Will it get really big?”

      “It’ll grow into a great shade tree.”

      That decided her. Ten minutes later he was carrying it out to his truck for her.

      * * *

      Holly felt as if someone had let all the air out of her. Grief? Maybe. More likely it was the release of the constant tension she lived with in Chicago. Fatigue seemed to envelop her, demanding she go home and fall asleep for hours, if not days. But she still had to plant a tree. She doubted that could be safely put off for too long.

      “You ever planted a tree before?” Cliff’s voice broke the silence she would have liked to continue forever.

      “No.”

      There was a notable pause before he said, “I’ll help.”

      His reluctance couldn’t have been any more obvious. Hers equaled it. But before her pride could erupt and get her into trouble, she faced the fact that she needed the help. If she did it all wrong, she’d kill the tree. And from the size of the root ball, she questioned whether she’d even have the physical strength to dig a hole so big.

      She glanced at Cliff from the corner of her eye. He’d have the strength. Damn it. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

      Another mile passed, then he surprised her by speaking again. “Your aunt was a remarkably caring, giving woman,” he said. “If anyone in this county hit hard times, she was there for them. I guess you take after her.”

      Reluctantly, she looked at him. “How would you know?”

      “I’m assuming. You’re a social worker, right? That means you help people, right?”

      She heard the annoyance in his tone and realized her response to him hadn’t been very gracious. In fact, it had been challenging. Sheesh, she needed to get a handle on this antipathy toward him. He at least was making some kind of effort, much as she really didn’t want it.

      “In theory,” she said. “Yeah, in theory. Once in a while I feel like I’ve gotten something good done. Most of the time I’m not sure. It takes kids a long time to grow up.”

      “You work with kids?”

      “Mostly. With their parents, too, depending on what the problems are.”

      “Do you get any short-term rewards?”

      The question surprised her with its understanding. She hadn’t expected that. “Sometimes. But I’m not in it for rewards.”

      “No, you’re in it to help.”

      The echo of her words a decade ago was so strong she winced. She distinctly remembered telling him that she had a bigger need to help people than she could meet around here as a rancher’s wife. God, how full of herself she had been. She’d left wounds behind her as she’d set out like Don Quixote, with little idea of what she was getting into, or how many windmills would shatter her lance.

      She didn’t answer him, instead turning her attention to the countryside that rolled past. What was the point? They’d be better off having as little to do with each other as possible. It was just that simple. Hard to believe that a fleeting affair, however torrid, might have left scars that lingered this long.

      She certainly hadn’t expected it to.

      One summer, a long, long time ago. She’d been visiting her aunt between semesters. He’d been gradually taking over the reins of his ranch from his father, just beginning to reach the fullness of manhood.

      She had been sunning herself on a cheap, webbed chaise in the front yard, wearing a skimpy halter top and shorts, a book beside her on the grass. Martha had shooed her outdoors and was inside lining up a potluck dinner for her church. A potluck Holly had no intention of being dragged to. She was just a visitor, passing through, her sights set far away.

      But then Cliff had come riding up. She hadn’t seen his approach because he came from the rear of the house, but as he rounded the corner, she caught her breath. Against the brilliant blue clarity of the sky, he had looked iconic: astride a powerful horse, cowboy hat tipped low over a strong face, broad shouldered, powerful.

      She should have run the instant she felt the irresistible pulse of desire within her. She should have headed for the hills. Instead, caught up in an instant spell, she had remained while his gaze swept over her, feeling almost like intimate fire, taking in her every curve and hollow. She’d felt desire before, but nothing like what this man had ignited within her.

      Then the real folly had begun. She had to return to school in two months. She’d thought he understood that. When she talked about getting her master’s and going into social work, she had thought her goals were clear. She had no intention of remaining in this out-of-the-way place as a rancher’s wife, and just as she couldn’t give up her dreams, he couldn’t give up his ranch.

      So who had been at fault, she wondered now, staring out the window. They had played with fire, they’d seized every opportunity to make love anywhere and everywhere, but then the idyll had come to an end. He had wanted her to stay.

      She had snapped in some way. She had been living a fantasy of some kind, and he’d intruded on it with reality. She had thrown his declaration of love back in his face, then had called him stupid for thinking it could have ever been anything but a fling.

      To this day she didn’t know what had driven her cruelty. By nature she wasn’t at all cruel, but that day...well, the memory of it still made her squirm. Maybe it had been a self-protective instinct, a way to end something that could move her life in a direction she didn’t really want to go. Or maybe some part of her had been almost as desperate as he was, but in a different way.

      She would probably never understand what she had done that day, but it had not only driven Cliff away, it had dashed the entire memory of that summer fling. She could not enjoy the memories of even the most beautiful or sexy moments of those weeks. All of it had to be consigned to some mental dustbin.

      She had figured at the time that Martha must have known what was going on, but she’d never said a word. Now this? Maybe Martha hadn’t guessed. If she had, then there was an unkindness here she wouldn’t have believed her aunt capable of. And not just to her, but to Cliff, as well.

      She sighed, pressing down memories that seemed to want to reignite right between her legs, reminding her of the dizzying pleasures she had shared with Cliff. That was gone, done for good. Over. Finished.

      If only the words would settle it all in her body, which seemed inclined now